Chapter 1

1.

In the elite circles of Manhattan's Upper East Side, everyone knew Julian Sterling was obsessed with me.

From the hallowed halls of Choate Rosemary Hall to the cutthroat world of Wall Street, he chased me for ten years. If I so much as frowned, he’d drop a multi-million dollar deal just to be by my side.

But that same Julian betrayed me three times.

The first was after the Met Gala. A rival slipped a potent aphrodisiac into his champagne, and he lost control, sleeping with a part-time waitress named Ivy Miller.

The night I asked for a divorce, he put that girl on a flight to Paris, then stood outside my Park Avenue apartment for three days and three nights. Hurricane Irene was tearing through New York, and he just stood there, soaked to the bone, staring up at my window.

"Charlie, I messed up," his voice was hoarse through the intercom. "For God's sake, please, forgive me this one time."

I looked down at his pale face and my heart softened.

The second time was at Mount Sinai Hospital. I walked in on him at an OB-GYN appointment with Ivy.

"That car crash in the Alps," he said, his eyes red-rimmed. "If she hadn't risked her own life to pull me from the burning wreck, I'd be dead. Then we found out she was pregnant. Grandmother Eleanor threatened me with the family trust―the 'bloodline clause' states only a direct heir can unlock the full inheritance."

His body trembled as he held me. "As soon as the baby is born, I'll set up a trust fund and send her to California. The baby will be raised by nannies in the Hamptons. You will never, ever have to see them."

I believed him.

The third time was at the Sotheby's fall auction. He was bidding against me for my mother's last legacy―an Art Deco emerald brooch, the final heirloom from the Vanderbilt side of my family.

Julian kept raising his paddle, finally signaling "no limit" to the auctioneer. He bought the brooch for four million dollars, then had it sent directly to Ivy’s private viewing box.

When I stormed into the VIP lounge, he was loosening his tie, looking exhausted. "Ivy has prenatal depression. Her doctor said we have to accommodate her moods. Charlie, you're an educated woman. Be mature about this, okay?"

I laughed, the sound hollow as tears ruined my makeup.

"And what if I don't want to be 'mature'?"

He frowned. "Don't make a scene. Once the baby is born, everything will go back to the way it was."

"Back to the way it was?" I repeated the words, my heart feeling like it had been pierced by an icicle.

The man he used to be once drove three hours through a blizzard to Brooklyn just to buy me a slice of cheesecake from that one famous bakery. The man he used to be only had eyes for me.

"Mr. Sterling…"

Ivy's gasp came from behind us. She was leaning against the velvet-lined wall, her face pale. "My ankle… I think I twisted it."

In a split second, Julian shoved me aside and rushed to her. His shoulder sent me stumbling backward, my lower back cracking against the corner of a mahogany table. A sharp, searing pain shot up my spine, and cold sweat soaked through the back of my Valentino couture gown.

"Julian!" My voice was shaking.

He never looked back. The last I saw was his back as he carried Ivy out of the room.

I stood there, frozen, laughing through my tears.

A life debt and the Sterling family bloodline. Julian, you're trapped for life.

How could we ever go back?

I dabbed the blood from my temple with a handkerchief. As I slid into the Lincoln, I told the driver, "Not the Hamptons. Take me to my lawyer's office on Seventh Avenue."

Two hours later, I walked into the top floor of Mount Sinai Hospital with a freshly printed divorce agreement.

The entire VIP floor was booked, a team of private doctors on standby. Through the glass, I saw Julian by Ivy’s bedside, his face etched with worry every time she winced, like he was watching the stock market crash.

"I'm craving a banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery…" Ivy murmured.

Julian grabbed his car keys. "I'll be back in twenty minutes."

After he left, I pushed open the door.

Ivy’s eyes immediately reddened when she saw me. "Miss Vance, I am so sorry about the brooch…"

"Save the performance," I said, placing the document folder on her bedside table. "Julian gave you half a million dollars to leave New York. You went to Paris and came back. I know exactly what you want."

Her tears stopped instantly.

"I'm done playing this game," I told her. "This is a divorce agreement. If I give it to him, he'll never sign it. You need to find a way to make him sign it without him knowing what it is."

Ivy bit her lower lip. "I never meant to ruin…"

"This is your one and only chance," I cut her off. "Get his signature, and the title of Mrs. Sterling, the beneficiary rights to the trust fund, the Fifth Avenue penthouse―it's all yours."

She stared at the folder for ten seconds, then reached for it, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. "Thank you for letting us be together… for us and the baby."

"A family." The word stung.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world."

Back at the Hamptons villa, I pulled out a cardboard box and started packing.

The first thing I put inside was a photo from Central Park when we were five. Julian, stiff in his little suit, was secretly tugging on the hem of my dress. His mother once told me he'd refused to be photographed alone that day.

The second was his high school football championship ring. He'd slipped it into my clutch on prom night with a note: "The quarterback's heart belongs only to you."

The third was the Tiffany yellow diamond he used to propose on my twenty-first birthday, the question splashed across the giant screens of Times Square.

"Charlie Vance, for the rest of my life, I'm yours."

If it weren't for Ivy Miller, I might have actually believed in fairytales.

The next morning, I was woken by a commotion downstairs.

Servants were piling Hermès orange boxes in the living room. Ivy stood in the middle of the foyer, her voice soft. "This is too much, Julian. I never expected any of this…"

"The doctor said staying happy is important for the baby," Julian said gently, then he saw me at the top of the stairs.

His expression froze. "Sorry, Charlie. I only bought gifts for Ivy this time. What do you want? I'll get you anything from the next Paris Fashion Week…"

"Mr. Sterling," Ivy interrupted suddenly. "I've already prepared a gift for Miss Vance."

She walked toward me, holding out the document folder.

I opened it and saw the signed divorce agreement.

Julian Sterling's signature, exactly the same as the one he'd written in my yearbook all those years ago.